


To Be Home

by Dark Rose (DarkRose33)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, F/M, HP: EWE, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 05:15:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkRose33/pseuds/Dark%20Rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of exile, Draco Malfoy is back in the country where he was born. But he needs a little extra help to make peace with his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not claim any rights to J. K. Rowling's intellectual property.
> 
>  **Author Note:** This was written for the 2011 Draco/Ginny fic exchange, for Writerdragonfly. She asked for "an older Ginny and Draco, children grown and raised or never there. Finding each other, remembering a time when they were young and in love before they lost each other. Finding that love as adults and starting anew." With potatoes in every scene.
> 
>  **Beta reader:** Dormiensa

Draco Malfoy stepped into the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic and looked around with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension at the inevitable changes that had occurred over the past twenty-one years. Apprehension that too much had changed or maybe that not enough had: when he had last been here, he was barely more than a prisoner, and he was not sure that he wanted to remember that.

Yet, as he crossed the hall to the wizards in charge of security, got his wand checked, and walked towards the lifts that would take him to the other levels, it was curiosity that dominated. After decades away from home, it was strange to come back, and he couldn’t help but wonder what the new wizarding world looked like here. On the surface at least, not so much was different. The Atrium was still the same, although the fireplaces had been improved to accommodate new Floo technologies, and the large statues decorating the fountain in the centre had been replaced with a new one. It showed wizards standing next to centaurs, house elves, and a few other types of semi-human creatures, all with their wands or arms raised and their eyes fixed on the same spot on the horizon. The statue was titled: The Magical World Victorious. His mouth twisted in a wry smile. Victorious, that depended on the viewpoint.

The lifts had also been upgraded and moved more smoothly now, and the little paper notes flying from one office to another were nowhere to be seen, probably replaced by faster and more efficient methods of communication. Draco got off at level two ("Department of Magical Law Enforcement", the lift's voice announced) and walked down the hallway lined with magical windows streaming sunlight. He walked past the Auror Headquarters and entered another corridor, this one leading to individual offices. Stopping in front of the third wooden door, he knocked briefly and waited.

There was the sound of a chair moving across the floor, papers being shuffled, and a voice called from inside: "Come in!"

Draco opened the door and stepped inside the office, and he repressed another sneer at the irony of the situation. If he had hoped to forget his last visit here, there was certainly nothing in Savage's office to help him in that. Everything, from the details of the furniture to the clutter all around the room and even the stuffy smell, was exactly as he remembered. When the Auror invited him to sit down, the chair even creaked in the same fashion as it had two decades earlier. Only more loudly. Savage himself had not changed much either. His forehead was more creased and his hair notably greyer, but the thin man still had ink smudges on the front of his robes and the side of his nose. And as shown by the remainder of baked potatoes in a plate balanced on top of a pile of books, he was still too busy to leave his office long enough to have lunch.

"So, Mr. Malfoy. You are back," the Auror said after a brief greeting.

Draco had long since learned not to be fooled by the wizard's apparent absent-mindedness. There was nothing vague about the way his alert gaze swept over him before returning to the file in front of him.

"I am," he simply confirmed.

The Auror nodded, as if to himself.

"Well, your Restriction time is long finished, so there should be no difficulty in regularising your situation."

Draco's mouth twisted in disgust at the mention of the word. The Restriction. It was the way the wizarding community had found to deal with the hundreds of people who had collaborated with Voldemort's regime but hadn't committed anything bad enough to be sent to Azkaban, especially since the prison was almost to capacity with captured Death Eaters. Gathering proofs, bringing everybody to court, deliberating and passing judgement had taken years. By the time Draco's trial came to an end, he was twenty-two years old and was sick of Britain. And what was the point of staying if it meant another fifteen years of heavy taxes, constant magical tracking, and limited rights? He had left. He had taken what he could―what he was allowed to take―from his Gringotts vault and had gone to France, then to Spain, and to Morocco. He had been in twelve countries and more than twice that many cities. During his travels, his Restriction time had come to an end, but he hadn't returned.

Why, he was not sure. Maybe it was fear. Fear of what he would find, fear that he would be disappointed and lost and would be constantly looking for something long gone that he could never have back. He had never been particularly brave. What had decided him to return, finally, was still quite strange to him. He didn't think of himself as somebody who took life-changing decisions on a whim, yet it seemed that he had. The only way to explain it otherwise involved admissions that he was not willing to make. But he was here, for now, and that was what mattered.

After some more shuffling, scribbling, and mumbling, Savage pulled out a few pages from the file and pushed them towards Draco.

"There. Sign your name here, then take this letter to the Improper Use of Magic Office and have them remove your Trace. Give the other to the Goblins at Gringotts to change the status of your account, and everything should be settled."

Draco signed and took the papers. An hour later, he was a rich wizard again, with all the rights of normal citizens and free to do as he pleased. It felt good to be back.


	2. Found

He had been wandering around Diagon Alley for a while now, not sure where to go next and not exactly in a hurry to go home. Home was Malfoy Manor, now unoccupied for years, full of fond and unpleasant memories jumbled together, both of which he was equally apprehensive. The grounds must be wild by now, with nobody to tend to them, unless somehow the house elves had stayed after all the inhabitants had left. His parents had been granted pardon because his mother had helped Potter at the last minute but on the condition that they left Britain and never came back. That was a few months after he had gone himself, and nobody else had lived in the Manor since. He would go back, eventually, but it was still the middle of the day, and he was in no hurry.

He eyed the new shops that had sprung up after the war, some similar to the old ones and some completely different. Adopting Muggle ways was fashionable nowadays, and if anyone still held the old prejudices that had almost destroyed the country, they kept it very quiet. A gift shop painted in wild colours sold "Muggle London Souvenirs", and a small restaurant claimed to make "Fast Food", whatever that meant. The window displayed pictures of round sandwiches and chips in red cardboard cups, next to the drawing of a smiling man with his face painted white, curly ginger hair and a red nose, who waved and winked at the passers-by. Draco couldn't help chuckling at the thought that he bore a strong resemblance to Ronald Weasley.

Whoever the picture was supposed to represent, however, the little restaurant seemed packed, mostly with families who kept streaming in and out, carrying paper bags and plastic cups as they left. Draco was about to move on when two witches among the crowd caught his eyes. One was in Ministry robes, with bushy brown hair and what looked like a heavy bag on one shoulder. The other wore a green dress cut in the latest fashion that looked beautiful on her, with her fiery red mane. She was holding a little girl's hand. Draco's heart skipped a beat. Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley. And . . . The girl. She must be Ginny's daughter. Something sunk in his chest, but he didn't pay attention to it. Walking a few steps back quickly into the crowd to avoid notice, he followed them with his gaze as they passed in front of him then started after them. Something in a remote corner of his mind was telling him it was a very bad idea, but again, he didn't pay attention. This was the reason he had come back. He didn't stop to think. He just followed.

They walked down Diagon Alley until reaching a nice looking spot by a fountain, surrounded by benches. They sat down, and Draco stopped a couple dozen feet behind, taking a table on a tearoom's terrace. It was spring, still not the warmth of summer, yet all the shopkeepers had put tables outside, and people were enjoying the first nice days after winter. From where he was, he could see them clearly, but he doubted they would notice him unless they looked straight at him. As it was, they seemed busy enough with themselves. Granger put her bag down and proceeded to take out the food they had bought, while Ginny spread a handkerchief on her daughter's lap.

Her daughter. His chest tightened at that thought, and he realized that somehow, he had been hoping that he would find her single, without any children, like him. Free. It was a ridiculous idea, of course, and he had no right to hope for such a thing; yet he had, and it hurt a little to see that hope shattered. He didn't leave, however. He ordered a cup of tea and sipped it while he watched them.


	3. Recognised

They ate and chatted and laughed, the two women with the girl sitting between them. She looked nine or ten, not more, or she would be in Hogwarts at this time. After a while, Granger stood up, seemingly saying goodbye to her friend, then left . . . taking the girl with her. Draco blinked, surprised. Could she not be Ginny's daughter after all? The way she clung to the other woman's arm seemed to hint that way at least. He started making calculations in his head. If Ginny was her mother, then it meant she had had her when she was a little more than thirty years-old. What did the newspaper say, again? He searched his memory to remember the details he had read in the year-old edition of the Daily Prophet he had stumbled upon by chance a few days earlier. It hadn’t made any mention of children and only stated that Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley's divorce was finally official, after years of separation. The topic was treated as a well-known one, and it probably was, here, but he had been away for so long that he had been barely aware of what was going on in Britain. The more he thought about it, though, the more he seemed to remember that the couple had been living apart for more than ten years. It was hard to imagine, then, that they had had a daughter in the meantime. No, it seemed logical that the girl would be Granger's.

Relief he shouldn't be feeling flooded him. He had no right to have such wishes still, but he couldn't help it. He was relieved. He looked back towards the benches and gave a start. She wasn't there anymore. He stood up, looking for her. Had she gone? Had he lost her? Suddenly, he saw her again, in the street, much closer than he expected, and walking straight towards him. In a few seconds, she would notice him. He looked around for a way to escape, hide before she could see he was there . . .

"Malfoy?"

There was no mistaking the incredulous voice. It had grown more mature, somehow, but it still sounded the same. He would have recognized it anywhere. Giving up trying to hide, he turned back towards her and smiled.

"Himself," he said with an exaggerated bow. "How have you been, Weasley?"

She seemed to recover from the shock of seeing him, a little at least, and straightened her back, crossing her arms.

"I wasn't aware you had come back," she said without answering the question. Then, somewhat softer, "You've been gone for years."

He shrugged apologetically and joined her on the side of the street after tossing a few coins on the table. She was scanning him intently, he realized, and he supposed she had reason to. He probably had changed. She surely had. There were now faint lines at the corners of her eyes, and the youthful, audacious look he remembered on her face had developed into a certain level of serenity he had never seen on her. Her eyes still held the same determination, however, and anyone who looked into them knew they were facing a strong-willed woman. And she was still beautiful. Probably even more so now than before.

"Twenty-one exactly," he supplied. "And a few months. I arrived this morning."

She smiled then. Oh, he remembered that smile.

"Well, welcome back. Have you been able to settle all your . . . affairs?"

He winced slightly at that mention.

"The annoying paperwork is done, yes, thankfully. I'm a free man, so it seems."

"I'm happy to hear it. I would have suggested lunch, but I just ate. Is there any chance you would have time tomorrow? I am curious to know what you've been up to all this time."

She was asking him out? Well, maybe not exactly that, but it still sounded a lot like a date. And if he hadn't expected it, he was certainly not going to refuse.

"As I said: free as the wind! Meet me here?"

She nodded.

"At noon. See you tomorrow, then!"

And with a wave of the hand, she walked away, quickly disappearing into the crowd. Only after standing there for a while, staring after her, did Draco realize she had asked all the questions and answered none. And taken control of the encounter with such ease that he hadn't even noticed it. He smiled, an amused, proud smile. She was a lioness, after all. He could remember a time when she had been able to make him do anything she asked without so much as a drop of sweat. It seemed that hadn't changed much, either.


	4. Remembered

Lunch went by surprisingly fast the next day. Draco had finally taken a room at the Leaky Cauldron rather than spending the night at the Manor. He was really not in the mood to get back to his childhood home yet. The pub's business had quickly picked up again after the war, and it now seemed as good as ever. The building was crowded, but luckily, there had been a few rooms left. He had spent the morning walking idly around Diagon Alley, making the same circuit again and again and checking the time every five minutes. The few hours before noon had felt like days. But then, once Ginny arrived and they settled in a cosy restaurant to eat―not the "Fast Food" one, Draco was grateful for that―minutes seemed to rush by like lightning.

They ordered lamb chops with mashed potatoes and a chicken and ham pie, and they spoke the whole time―of Draco's trips, his various adventures, and the countries he had seen, of Ginny's life in the past two decades. Draco remembered that she had joined a professional Quidditch team after Hogwarts and got engaged to Potter, like everybody expected, but not much more. He learned that she had gotten married a few months after his departure from England and had had her first child a year later. His name was James, and he was now working for Gringotts, following in his uncle's footsteps. He was currently in Ireland on business with the goblins. Ginny's second son, Albus, was still in Hogwarts, and would soon write his NEWTs. He wanted to become an Auror. When she spoke about them, her eyes shone with pride, and Draco just watched her, drinking in all her words.

She had stopped her Quidditch career to take care of her children and was now working at the Daily Prophet as senior Quidditch editor. Her marriage had started going awry a couple of years after Albus was born. Both she and Potter had been more or less pushed into it, if only by their own expectations and everybody else's. As they had grown older, they had grown apart and sicker of each other every day. To separate had been the best decision they had ever made, Ginny said. They had started getting along much better once they no longer had the pressure of keeping their status as a happy couple alive. They had waited before getting divorced because they didn't feel the need for it and thought it was better for their children, but now, after so many years, it had seemed like the logical thing to do. Potter had met somebody else while they were separated, and they had finally decided to get married. Ginny herself said she was glad he had found happiness and had a very good opinion of his fiancée.

They talked about their lives, and then slowly, conversation drifted towards the past. Their past. So many things had been left unspoken since their tumultuous and short-lived affair at Hogwarts. Family, war, duty, and obligation had pulled them apart, and from then on, their lives had seemed to take radically different paths. This was the first time they were alone together in twenty-six years. And yet, the flame Draco had tried so hard to quench still burned, as if no time had passed. Minutes drifted by treacherously fast, however, and before he knew it, the meal was over and Ginny was standing up to leave.

"I really enjoyed this, Draco," she said while he got up as well.

He smirked. He had to, or he would soon turn into a starry-eyed fool.

"So, we're on first name basis now?"

She let out a small laugh.

"Well, we were before, weren't we? And sitting here talking with you, I really felt like it was yesterday."

"Good point, Ginny."

It felt strange, and yet delicious, saying her name again. They walked together to the Leaky Cauldron, and she Flooed home from there. He went back to his room in the pub. He still had no desire to sleep at Malfoy Manor.


	5. Home

They saw each other again the next day and the day after that. Ginny finally discovered that Draco was staying at the Leaky Cauldron, and it became a habit for them to meet in Diagon Alley almost every day. Draco would wait for her in the common room until she stepped out of the fireplace, and they would go to have lunch together. She had even convinced him to try the burger-and-chips from the Fast Food, and he had been forced to admit that it was not half-bad. And every day, they talked. About the present mostly, the past sometimes, but the future rarely. It was during one of those rare conversations that she inquired about his plans for his family's home.

"Do you want to keep it?" she asked while they sat in front of the fountain he had followed her to the first day.

He had to think about that a little before answering. Not that he had not asked himself that question, but he had never been able to reach a definite decision on the topic.

"I think so," he said finally. "It was my home, after all. And my father's and his father's before him. If I sold it, it would be like selling a part of me."

She nodded. He was glad she understood. After all, it was also the place where Voldemort had lived for a year at the worst of the war, the place where he had tortured and killed and where several of Ginny's friends had been held prisoners. He wouldn't have held it against her if she had disapproved of his choice.

"In that case, you will have to go back there, eventually. And take care of it. There's no point in keeping it if you leave it to decay."

It was his turn to nod. Of course, she was right. He just . . . didn't want to. He kept pushing it back, day after day, thinking there would be time to do it later. He knew he couldn't evade it forever though.

"I know. I just can't bring myself to go back there and face . . . all that."

He didn't say what exactly, but he knew he didn't have to explain. She put her hand on his, and he looked up, surprised. It was the first time she had done it in years.

"If you think it will help, I can go with you the first time," she told him softly.

His surprise only increased. Even after all the time they had spent together, he hadn't expected that. Maybe he wasn't the only one who still felt something of that old flame, after all.

He put his other hand on top of hers, gazing into her bright brown eyes.

"Thank you. I know it will."

So the next day, they Apparated together to Malfoy Manor. He stood staring at the wrought-iron gates for a while. The yew hedge had grown out of control, and herbs grew wild all over the grounds. The old fountain he played in when he was young was almost completely hidden under the vegetation, and vines climbed high all over the walls of the main building. It took a few spells to be able to ease the gate open, and then, they had to carve themselves a way through the garden in order to reach the front door.

Inside, the sight was not merrier. Cobwebs filled all the corners and the spaces between the furniture. A lot of the decorations were gone, pieces of art and precious family possessions taken away by his parents when they left. A thick layer of dust covered everything, and every step raised clouds that made them cough. But with Ginny's encouragements, Draco went through every room of the building, cleaning up roughly with a few spells and taking note of what was present and what was gone. He left the large drawing room on the ground floor for last. It conjured too many painful memories. But Ginny held his hand, and he went in there, too, to methodically clean and file away the contents.

When they were finally done, they sat at the kitchen table and took out the lunch they had brought with them. While he ate the shepherd's pie Ginny had made herself―she claimed it was one of the only dishes she was capable of making, but he found it delicious and wolfed it down voraciously―he looked towards the windows letting in bright sunlight for the first time in years and realized that some of his fears had disappeared. He tried to explain it to her.

"I think it's being here with you. The fact that you're with me ... it makes it different. It makes this place different."

She raised her eyebrows at him from across the table.

"Different? How so?"

He fumbled with his words for a while. Then, he finally found what he meant.

"It makes it feel like home."

He looked up at her hesitantly. He had been sure that she still had feelings for him, but what if he was wrong? He forced himself to say the words anyway.

"Will you help me make this place feel like home?"

She smiled and put her fork down in order to cover his hand with hers.

"I would love to."


End file.
